


Not the sharpest crayon but certainly the cutest

by agamous (apetala)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Sergio Ramos - Freeform, crackfic, fire ramos's hairdresser 2k16, is the sweetest and sexiest dumdum, this guy has a lot of INTERESTING rumors attached to him, with VERY BAD HAIR THIS SEASON
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7220278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apetala/pseuds/agamous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergio Ramos will not be outdone by any man, and certainly not a certain bald French coach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the sharpest crayon but certainly the cutest

Sergio stood in front of the mirror, frowning.

 

This was a serious problem, and it needed serious contemplation.

 

He gazed at himself in the mirror. He could humbly admit that the reflection revealed a handsome man. Red hair, artful stubble, and an upper body to die for, with tattoos all over his well defined arms that made people coo over him. He briefly flexed his chest muscles, and admired the view of his bulges. Yes, very nice.

 

Then his frown grew deeper.

 

So what on earth did Zidane have that could interest Cristiano so much?

 

* * *

 

 

Cris and him were always an open item. Ask all those girls over the years that he had taken to bed, and had very, very, enthusiastically eaten out. And Cris was no slouch either: the gossip magazines only covered a few of his many one night stands. But they’d always had an understanding. That at least every week, Cris would drive home a sloppy drunk Sergio, back to Sergio’s place, and after he had sobered up halfway, would rim Cris until he was boneless and utterly pliant, unable to muster up any of his usual sarcastic remarks about Sergio’s taste in interior décor (what was so bad about tiger print walls?) or his grooming. (Okay, now Cris was just being jealous. Not everyone could rock a beard.)

 

His favorite part wasn’t even getting to sink every inch of his cock into Cris, so relaxed that he offered no resistance whatsoever, the throbbing heat welcoming him inside. Or hearing Cris, normally so sharp and full of words, only able to moan Sergio’s name as he thrust against that spot inside Cris relentlessly.

 

It was when they were all done, Cris shivery and dark eyed, letting Sergio cuddle him close and cover his body in kisses—the lids of his eyes, the lines of his collarbones and shoulders, to the curve of his hips. A Cris, soft and trusting, underneath him as Sergio spooned him, and they both drifted off to sleep.

 

But ever since Zidane arrived, Cris had practically disappeared off the face of the planet. And Sergio knew that they had some history together—they had briefly played against each other for a few matches—but in Sergio’s humble opinion, that did NOT justify the big moony eyes Cris would make whenever him and Zidane were talking together. Which. Was. A. Lot.

 

Okay, so him and Cris usually didn’t talk that much. They were cool. Sergio was cool. Cris usually was always complaining, either about the beard burns Sergio left on his inner thighs or about how Sergio took too long in the club shower. (Which was hilarious, considering how infamous Cris was for hogging the ice bath, for like, forever.)

 

But when Sergio considered Zidane, a strange sensation of nervousness bloomed. Zidane just had this aura about him. Always cool and collected. His casual movements revealed a man with coiled power to his every step, a man who was used to taking. Sergio felt like a boy next to him.

 

Next to Zidane, Cris barely even noticed Sergio.

 

So the problem was, how could Sergio be more like Zidane?

 

What on earth did Zidane have that Sergio didn’t?

 

Was it the tailored suit? (Sergio did own suits, he just didn’t like them very much. Why bother with three piece suits when you could wear board shorts? Or better yet, walk around naked?) Was it his eyebrows? (Frankly, Cris’s eyebrows blew both of them out of the water.) Was it his decades of experience as a legendary athlete? (Well Sergio had decades of experience as a legendary giver of head so that cancelled out) Was it his--?

 

Suddenly Sergio widened his eyes.

 

He wished for a little lightbulb over his head, because his idea was _brilliant_.

 

He knew exactly what to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Cris was casually patting in serum on his cheekbones when he heard a hubbub in the locker room entrance.

 

Everyone was getting ready for training, but for some reason Sergio was running a little late. Which was not unusual for Sergio, except last night was a weekday, and as messy as Sergio could get on the weekends, he had enough sense to know better than to go out to the bars before training.

 

At first he heard a hushed silence as someone’s shoes made their way through the entrance way. Then a howl of laughter from Pepe, and a swell of disbelief and shock from everyone else.

 

Curious, Cris stepped out to have a look at the commotion.

 

And felt his soul leave his body.

 

Sergio was standing there, tall and proud and grinning at everyone.

 

The locker light was a little harsh, sure.

 

In the bright light, one couldn’t fail but to see every turn and bump of Sergio’s very bald head.

 

It even gleamed a little.

 

* * *

 

 

Sergio was cracking a joke with Marcelo when he heard a very loud voice curse in Portuguese behind him.

 

Turning, he saw Cris, with an utterly horrified expression.

 

“What on earth happened to your head?”

 

Sergio smiled, and opened his arms for a hug as we walked over to Cris. “Hi babe. I heard you have a thing for bald men.”

 

As Sergio crushed Cris to his chest with an enormous bear hug, Cris could barely reply “What?”

 

* * *

 

 

During training, Sergio was absolutely insufferable to Zidane, grinning and placing a possessive arm over Cris’s shoulders every time the coach even glanced at him. Zidane on the other hand, other than a split second of surprise at the beginning of the session, betrayed no irritation, or really any idea, of Sergio’s behavior. He just assumed Sergio had lost a bet.

* * *

 

Cris dragged Sergio away to the empty locker room as soon as he was able to. Sergio grinned like a cat with cream the whole way, and Cris was having none of it. Whatever idiocy Sergio had gotten himself into, he was getting to the bottom of it immediately.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” He hissed to Sergio.

 

Sergio raised his eyebrows. “Babe, there’s no need to pretend. I know you like men with no hair on their heads.”

 

Cris grew angrier. “First of all, I have no idea where you got that from. Secondly, you were embarrassing today, with all that touching nonsense. Even James was asking me if you took drugs last night, and if you needed help.”

 

Sergio drooped. “Do you not like bald guys?”

 

“….What?”

 

“Well, you’ve been spending all your time with our coach lately. I missed you. I figured the only thing I couldn’t give you that he could was a hairless head.”

 

Cris was speechless for a long moment.

 

“I. Cannot. Believe. You. Thought. That.” He enunciated carefully.

 

And softening, he leaned forward to drop a kiss on Sergio’s nose. “You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met in my life.”

 

Sergio brightened up immediately, and stepped closer to place his hands on Cris’s arms. “Admit it, I’m also the biggest romantic you’ve ever met in your life.”

 

“You’re definitely the dumbest boyfriend I’ve ever met in my life.” Cris snorted.

 

Sergio grinned in happiness, and gently pushed Cris backwards against the wall.

 

Leaning down to kiss, Cris murmured against his mouth.

 

“You shaved your head, but not the fucking beard?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> An explanation for Sergio's head this season.


End file.
